A dark, upright shape.

Her blood froze.

Then a voice. Lily’s voice. It was Lily, standing on her bed.

‘Hide and Seek!’ Lily said.

Fran let out a long breath.

‘Lily! You gave me a fright. It’s sleepy time now, you can’t play Hide and Seek. Maybe next time?’

‘Hide and Seek!’ Lily said again.

‘No, you have to lie down now, Liliput.’

Fran reached for her. She could feel Lily’s warm arms going around her neck, waiting to be picked up, but in one practised move, Fran had her lying flat in the bed.

‘Hide and Seek with my friend,’ Lily murmured, but she’d given in. She didn’t try to get up again. Fran sat on the other bed, waiting to make sure she settled. Her eyes roamed around the room as shadows took shape. The huge wardrobe with one door hanging open, the bookcase of battered books, the floor-length velvet curtains covering the window, and the evil eye symbol beneath. Fran shivered.

From the smaller bed came the soft, even sound of sleep. Carefully, Fran stood, wincing as the bed creaked when she moved. Lily didn’t stir. In fairness, Fran acknowledged, when Lily was asleep, she was really asleep – nothing would wake her. Except tonight, when something had.

Fran made her way out of the bedroom and through to the main bathroom, locking the door behind her. She usually used the downstairs loo when she was here and took a moment now to take in the colourful Spanish tiles and the ornate clawfoot tub. Quite a departure from the functional avocado-coloured bathroom in her own house. In the oval mirror above the sink, Fran’s face was pale and drawn, with the crease mark of a couch cushion lining one cheek. Perhaps not the best look for an alert and capable babysitter. She turned on the tap, running the water until it was properly cold, then splashed it on her face. Better. Just about. As she turned off the tap, a noise elsewhere in the house caught her attention. Zara?

She unlocked the bathroom door and stood on the landing listening, and again couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was listening too. God, what if this was a dream? What if she was inside her own dream? Bloody Freddy Krueger.

As she stood listening, she heard it. Faint at first. Then a little louder. A creak from downstairs. Like a door opening. Like a hinge that needed oil. Like someone trying not to make noise. Louder now, jarring in the otherwise silence. Hairs stood on the back of her neck as she held her breath. Not moving.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Quiet.

But clear.

Someone was down there.

Fran moved to the top of the stairs and gripped the bannister. She had to go down – Zara was on her own, asleep in the living room. She put her foot on the top step of the stairs and stopped to listen. Which way were the footsteps going? Then came the sound of a door. The kitchen door? She took another step. Then stopped, at the sound of something breaking, followed by the noise of another door closing. Was it Zara? Going out the back for a smoke? She raced down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. Zara was still asleep on the couch. It wasn’t Zara. Then who?